A little night music
by NairobiWonders
Summary: Slightly spoilery for "All in the Family." On a rewatch of Sherlock and Watson's interaction in tux and gown at the police station, I wondered what they did after they left. A smidge OOC perhaps, crosses ever so slightly into potential joanlock. It might help to read the previous ficlet "Of Gowns and Black Ties!" but its not necessary


They walked out of the police station around 10:30 p.m. Anywhere else, their formal wear might have drawn attention, but this was New York City on a Friday night.

"Watson, what say we take an excursion? Would you be willing to humor me? I have research that I need to complete and seeing as we are 'dressed up with nowhere to go' ..." His voice trailed off.

She knew better than to say yes to anything he proposed without asking for details, "What kind of research?"

"Well, you do know that the new mayor has made it his mission to stop horse drawn carriage rides in Manhattan and I need some first hand information about that activity before it is curtailed, specifically a 45 minute ride around Central Park, for a cold case I've been working on." They were walking side by side on 57th heading for Fifth, he was not making eye contact with her as he spoke, and she realized he was steering them in the direction of the park. "If you'd rather not join me, I can hail you a taxi and send you home. I have my whistle."

Watson knew him well enough to know he really wanted her to tag along but being Sherlock he could never come out and say it. "Okay. That might be enjoyable. I'll come along."

"As you wish," he said giving her a sidelong glance, his walk picking up a little swagger.

An older carriage with a chestnut brown horse was their choice. "I understand why the mayor wants to stop this, but it seems such a shame. I have a particular affinity for the slower mode of transportation, allows one time to process information." He patted the horse's neck gently as she watched. She often saw that wistful look in his eyes, the look of being out of place in time, not fitting in to his surroundings.

"Come on Sherlock," she pulled him back out from his musings, "our carriage awaits and I need to be home by midnight." He turned and with a tight lipped grimace, assisted her up the steps of the carriage. "Up you go then." She arranged her gown and he took his place by her side on the red upholstered seats, a little tattered here and there, but still comfortable.

"Onward my good man," Sherlock called out to the driver. He took out his stop watch and clicked it to start, brought out his phone and started typing notes.

Watson looked at him and joked, "Huh, you really are doing research. And here I thought you were being romantic." Sherlock looked at her confused and a bit flustered. "You know my stance on romance Watson. It is a colored veil draped over a biological need to make it more palatable. This is science." He pointed to his stop watch and returned to his one fingered note taking.

"We'll, I'll just enjoy the ride for the both of us." She shivered. Sherlock responded quickly, "Cold, Watson? Cabbie, have you any blankets?" She tried to stop him, "I'm fine Sherlock, really."

"Yes sir, there is a throw there under the seat in front of you," the driver replied over his shoulder. "This is good cuddling weather," he chuckled.

Sherlock shot him a disapproving look, fished out the blanket and draped it across Joan's lap. She grabbed at the blanket, "What about you? Don't be stupid, we can share this. Move in a little closer." Sherlock, uncomfortably inched a little closer as Watson readjusted the blanket.

They fell into an amiable silence, the clip clop of the horse's hooves on the pavement and the gentle sway of the carriage hypnotized them into forgetting the traffic noises and lights of the city. Central Park at night took on an otherworldly air. Dark bare limbed trees faded into the foggy haze that fell over the park, punctuated here and there by small beacons of light from wrought iron lampposts.

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep," murmured Sherlock. Watson's eyes found his. The facade between them was dropped and they allowed each other momentary access to feelings they kept in darkness, away from prying eyes. The frankness of the nonverbal exchange proved too much for Sherlock. He broke away from her gaze on the pretext of checking his stopwatch. Joan looked down for a moment but let her body continue to sway with the movement of the carriage, lightly bumping into him. He shot her a quick look, she answered with a small smile to let him know they were okay.

"Too bad we never got that dance. I'll never know just how phenomenal a dancer you are" she teased bringing them back to their comfort zone.

"You are mocking me aren't you?" He scrutinized her. "Do you waltz?"

"Yes I do Mr. Holmes. My mom sent me to dance and etiquette classes trying to make me less of a rebel when I was a teen... Less Iggy Pop, more Emily Post she used to say."

Sherlock looked at her intrigued, "Rebel, rebel... hmmm." He suddenly called out to the driver, "If you could find a place to stop for a minute or two, preferably where there is a lamppost, I shall make it worth your while."

"Yes sir," the driver readily agreed, extra income was always welcome.

Sherlock was scrolling through the music on his phone.

"Sherlock what are you doing?" Watson had a pretty good idea of what he had in mind but was hoping she was wrong. The cabbie found a lit spot at the entrance to a path and tugged his old horse to a stop. "What about your research?" she asked as he removed the blanket from both of them.

"I have all the information I need," he said as he offered his hand and helped her down. He took off his pea-jacket, helped her off with her black evening coat, placing them both on the carriage. He adjusted his tie, she smoothed down her gown. Sherlock hit play on his phone and slipped it into his breast pocket. The strands of a waltz filled the night air as he extended his hand to her. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all but still placed her hand in his. He searched her face for approval as he slowly slipped his other hand around her waist. She placed her hand on his shoulder. The dance began.

The driver looked on amused as they waltzed. Their bodies immediately synced in movement to the music. They moved as one. The sheen of her dress reflected the glow of the yellow light, their shadows swirled around them on the dark grey pavement. Carefree joy, a rare emotion for both of them, registered on their faces.

Sherlock was surprisingly graceful, his nervous energy transforming into fluid movement. He couldn't help but hold her just a little closer and as the music slowed they ended up cheek to cheek, breathing deeply, eyes closed as their movement slowed to a sway.

Boom, boom, boom - The waltz disappeared, changing into the steady beat of an 80s song. Sherlock jumped, Watson stepped back. He quickly grabbed for his phone and turned it off.

"Wait, was that Wham?" Watson couldn't believe what she had heard. "That was, that was "Wake me up before you go" wasn't it?"

Sherlock put on a face of mock horror at her suggestion, "I would never ..." He reached for her coat, "You must be cold," rapidly changing the subject as helped her into it.

"Hmmm..." she gave him a crooked side smile, her back to him as she eased her arms into her sleeves, "I have to admit though, you are a great dancer."

"It's really just a matter of choosing the right partner," he said quietly as he fixed her collar and giving her shoulders a tiny squeeze. Sherlock turned his attention to the driver, "Thank you for your patience, sir, we may proceed."

Watson was left wondering what Sherlock would do if he were actually trying to be romantic.


End file.
